


Twelve Years

by valiantfindekano



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst and Politics, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-09
Updated: 2014-07-09
Packaged: 2018-02-08 04:00:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1925925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valiantfindekano/pseuds/valiantfindekano
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fingon requests a word with Maedhros before the Fëanorians leave for Formenos.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Twelve Years

In the end, it took a bribe to convince the guard to let him past. Findekáno knew the man; he knew his wife and he knew his children, and yet he stubbornly refused to let the Ñolofinwëan prince through the gates (which indeed made Findekáno wonder if Fëanáro had perhaps left them with special instructions in anticipation of a visit like this). It was possible, though, that by the time Findekáno reached to find what gold coins he had about him, the man had tired of his persistence, and deeming him essentially harmless, he had given up.

Others tried to stop him as he strode through the palace, but blessedly the family themselves were occupied. They would be making arrangements and packing their things, he knew, and purposeful steps in a corridor must seem to them like one of seven tall sons about their own business.

Maitimo’s door was ajar when Findekáno reached it, but he still paused and gave it a gentle knock. A surprise visit this might be, but that was no excuse for rudeness.

There was a pause before the response came, which the younger prince took to mean that Fëanáro’s other children were not accustomed to the same habits of politeness. “Come in?” came a puzzled reply.

Immediately, Findekáno closed the door after him, dropping the bolt gently to seal it. Then he leaned back against the wooden panels, folding his arms in front of him. This would be the right time to say what he had come to say—he needn’t waste time with formalities and wait to be persuaded away from his intentions.

Maitimo’s appearance alone brought him dangerously close. Telperion’s silver light framed his dark red hair beautifully, particularly on the strands of loose hair that framed his face, and the light glinted too off the copper circlet that he’d not removed. He still wore his boots as well, and his formal robes were artfully undone where they hung off broad shoulders.

He was paused in the middle of the floor, head cocked as he tried to work out why his cousin was here, and a half-folded shirt was in his hands. Findekáno glanced over at his bed, where a stack of other neatly-folded clothes grew next to a large leather satchel.

“Findekáno.” The name was spoken warily. “I did not expect to see you before I departed. How did you make it here? Surely my father—“

Findekáno swallowed. “Never mind that. I thought we should speak.”

Maitimo nodded, which brought a pang of guilt to Findekáno’s conscience; likely the other did not realise what discussion they were about to have, though they could both be assured it would not be all pleasant words.

“When are you leaving?” Findekáno asked, making his way away from the door to perch on the edge of his cousin’s bed.

“Atar means for us to be on the road at the Lights’ Mingling,” Maitimo answered, resuming folding, “but the twins have been so busy starting arguments that I think it will be a full cycle before we are all ready.”

“You seem prepared.”

“There is not much left, and we keep enough at Formenos that we may travel light. But I’m trying not to leave anything that I will miss.” A smile touched Maitimo’s face at that, but it seemed half-hearted. “Listen, will you help me? I can give you my undivided attention if we finish soon.”

It was a bad idea, Findekáno knew, but he found himself nodding all the same. He rose, making his way to Maitimo’s closet, where he grabbed the first item of clothing he saw. Maitimo nudged his hand away, suggesting something else.

“Is Finwë truly going with you?”

“Yes, he is resolved to.”

Silence met that answer, though Findekáno might have rolled his eyes when Maitimo turned aside. He deposited the doublet he’d folded next to Maitimo’s things, but no sooner had he gone to fetch another garment then he saw his cousin grab it and refold it, albeit neater than Findekáno had done.

“My father doesn’t know I’m here,” Ñolofinwë’s son ventured.

“Nor does mine,” Maitimo answered humourlessly.

This was not good; if nothing else, Findekáno had trusted their ability to still converse. Then again, their last discussion had descended into a fit of accusations and lies, as had the one previous, so if nothing else, he understood the wariness.

For a few minutes there was silence, but eventually Maitimo paused to survey the piles of clothing before him.

“That will do. Here, we’ll have them in the bag, and then you may tell me what you came to say.”

That task proved slightly too fleeting, and their hands bumped a few too many times. It didn’t escape Findekáno’s attention that each time, Maitimo paused, as if he was expecting something—what, though? A caress? A slap?

When the bag was full, Maitimo shifted it to the floor, where it landed with a dull thud. Then he sat gingerly on the edge of the bed, and Findekáno debated whether he should join him or remain on his feet.

“Sit. Please.”

Findekáno conceded.

“It’s only twelve years,” Maitimo said a second later. “It seems a long time now, but it will pass—and you know the distance will do our fathers well.”

“Yes, our fathers,” Findekáno repeated dryly. That was what it came down to these days, wasn’t it? Fëanáro and Ñolofinwë and their damned feud.

Maitimo sighed. “You know I would visit if I could, but I cannot return to Tirion any more than I can remain here. Still, I am sure in a few years we can arrange for you to visit, if—“

Findekáno didn’t let him finish that statement. “So you cannot tarnish your reputation or your father’s, but I should tarnish mine? Listen to yourself, Maitimo. It would be just as disastrous if I set foot in Formenos.”

“We could meet halfway….” Maitimo’s voice trailed off, though; that too was an impossibility, and they both knew it. The scandal of the two eldest sons meeting in the face of the feud and exile would cast fuel, not water, over the fire.

Findekáno’s teeth worried his lower lip, but when his cousin did not offer more, he took a breath. Here; this was what he had come to say. It was words he could not faithfully put in a letter, especially knowing that one bearing his family’s seal would be committed to the fireplace before it was even opened.

“Nelyafinwë, I do not want you to seek me when you return.” He spoke quietly, and his voice sounded very flat to his own ears.

“ _What?_ ”

_Valar grant me strength,_  Findekáno thought. “I think that our engagement—as it stands—would be better put to an end.”

Maitimo was usually, between them, the more eloquent. Few things ever seemed to phase him so much that he did not have a reply ready. But now he only stared at Findekáno with a look of surprised disbelief, grey eyes widened and lips parted as he fought to find words.

He managed one. “Why?”

Findekáno glanced down. “Because I do not find it healthy to be entangled with someone who can so readily accuse me of treason, when it is demonstrably untrue.”

Maitimo was frowning now. “No, Fin, please. I didn’t—“

“You did mean it, and you still believe it, don’t you?”

“Will you let me defend myself?” Maitimo snapped, but at least it seemed that he had found his voice again. “Need I remind you that you brought your own accusations towards me?”

“No, I had not forgotten that you planned to drive me from my own home, thank you.”

Maitimo sprang to his feet. “We never intended anything of the sort! Even my father has more decency than that, though I begin to think you are undeserving—“

At the same moment, he and Findekáno both realised that it would not do to have raised voices just now—an interruption by Fëanáro, or even Nerdanel or any of their sons, would make matters a dozen times worse than they already were. Letting out a frustrated sigh, the Fëanárion passed a hand over his face.

“You break into my home to slander me and insult me,” he hissed. “You are the most insufferable, audacious—“

Findekáno rolled his eyes, visibly this time. “Spare your fancy words. I came here because I thought it would bring us both relief to … to clear this matter between us, rather than leaving it to bring us both agony.”

“But it is only twelve years, Fin!” Maitimo protested.

“Declaring your father a priority before me is not a matter of twelve years,” Findekáno countered. “And—I will say the same is true for me, because I would not insult my atar to appease you.”

“Yet you’d demand that I do just that.” Maitimo shot a dark look towards his cousin.

“My father is not in the wrong.”

Maitimo opened his mouth to reply, but he closed it again. Likely he’d been ready to repeat his accusation from before, but thought better of it, and instead a lengthy silence settled between them.

Finally, though, Maitimo did speak, his tone rather softer now. “Is it only these blasted rumours that make you say this?”

He always ways perceptive, Findekáno reasoned, and he sighed, hanging his head. “No, not only the… rumours.” He could accept that word for now, in place of accusation, but he still swallowed around it. “It’s… for a while. I have been…  _tired_.”

Maitimo said nothing.

“This hiding, and lying to people I love and trust. You were right to think it would wear on me.” Findekáno looked up to see that his cousin had turned away from him, but he could guess too easily what expression the elder would be wearing. “I did not mind before. When it was better.”

“But you cannot take that as well as the stress of a full-blown feud,” Maitimo concluded, and now his voice came across as flat.

Findekáno nodded, but realizing that Maitimo could not see him with his back turned, he uttered a quiet confirmation. Then, after a second, “I am sorry.”

“I understand.” Maitimo folded his arms, eventually turning back to face Findekáno. If the emotion had showed before, his expression had now turned unreadable, masking whatever he felt now—anger, hurt, relief, Findekáno could not say for certain which.

Suddenly it felt wrong to still be sat on Maitimo’s bed, so the younger elf rose, his fingers curling into strange patterns at his sides. “It is a lot to ask, but I would hope you find it in yourself to forgive me, eventually. I do not wish for us to part on bad terms.”

Maitimo’s expression darkened momentarily, but he only nodded. 


End file.
